Just You and Me
by ssavaged
Summary: I miss sitting with you and making fun of these drunken yuppies with fake accents and Swiss bank accounts. But I think the reason I miss it the most is because now I am one of these fakes. And I hate it. ONESHOT.


**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**I was watching The Real Paul Anka again on TIVO, and because of my sorrow I was inspired to write this.**

XXXXXXXXX

I'm sitting here in front of my mirror and wondering how everything got so fucked up.

You were there for me, even though I believed you to be selfish and completely indifferent at the time. I couldn't have been any less supportive. For some reason, I had it in my head that you were in the wrong, that you were causing me pain. But it was me. I was causing you pain, which in turn caused me even more suffering.

But I still don't understand why you had to leave.

I know now why you had to leave for California. You were bored, angry, sick of feeling inferior. Well, I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for a lot of things. Your mom was never around; you were shipped to Luke; you were pulled around profusely; I was an unsupportive girlfriend; I treated you horribly afterwards. I'm sorry for all of that. I truly am.

I only wish there was something I could do about it now.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Rory, let's go!" He calls out to me from downstairs, and I hear glass hitting the floor, pieces shattered. That must have been Daniel.

"I'm coming!" I reply, fondling a pair of earings in my jewelry box. You gave them to me when we were eighteen. I put them through my ears, fastening each back on quickly. And stepping into my black stilettos, I'm ready to leave.

I married him, you know. After you were gone I couldn't find I reason why I shouldn't. I had to forgive him for all the pain he caused just so I could hide my own.

We had a child named Daniel. He's six years old now.

I hurry down the stairs, pushing my Prada back up my arm, to my shoulder. Daniel clings to my hand as we rush out the door and into our black Range Rover. "Logan," I catch his attention as he puts the key in the ignition. "Remind me to call Maria when we get home. To watch Daniel while we're in Europe."

He nods, giving my hand a squeeze as he pulls out of our two-car garage. We're headed to his father's birthday party, although I'd rather dive into a pool of flesh-eating worms.

Once we arrive to the Huntzberger mansion, Daniel's the first out of the car. Logan's mother is outside to greet us before we even reach the porch. "Come in, come in." She greets, snatching Daniel's hand instantly. Logan sneaks a reassuring smile in my direction, but all I can think of is his mother's stench of cigarettes. She never did stop stress-smoking.

After awkwardly waiting in the living room, his mother escorts us to the dining room where a salad is waiting. Mitch sits at the head of the table, as usual, much to my dismay. Of course Logan insists upon me sitting to his father's right, granted he wouldn't have had he known our history.

Yes, I slept with Logan's father. Rather, it was Mitch seducing me, but it's not like it matters now.

It was one night last summer, when I had brought a vase back for Logan's mother. She wasn't home, obviously, when Mitch had invited me in and insisted upon having drinks. One thing had led to another and, well, here we are.

Even if I had wanted to file a rape charge Mitch would have been able to be rid of it. He had told me this many a time, after our little encounter. So I remain quiet, much like the good girl he had molded me into.

After dinner, Logan and his father retire to the study, for brandy and cigars. Of course his mother insists upon me taking Daniel to the garden, but I begin to complain of a headache, so she does so reluctantly. A few nasty glares are also hinted in my direction.

Logan's mother never did approve of me.

XXXXXXXXXX

Daniel had turned out just as my grandparents predicted.

With Logan's blonde curls and my blue eyes, he's turned out to be quite the ladie's man, even at age six. For some reason, he's nothing like me, and has every bit of Logan. Not only has he surrendered my passion for books and studying, my Daniel only sticks to mischief and wrong-doing, just as his father had taught him.

Perhaps if I hadn't left you that night, we could have had our own Daniel who would turn out just as I wanted. Maybe in another lifetime.

Instead I'm stuck in this life that I don't want, with the husband I shouldn't have married, and the child that I shouldn't have birthed. Our golden retriever doesn't even take a liking to me, since he senses my unhappiness.

On nights when Logan either isn't home or goes to bed early, I find myself hiding in the basement with a scrapbook glued to my nose. It's a scrapbook of you, and every memory you have left me with. Of course it doesn't matter now since you have left me with nothing.

I guess it's better that way, though, since I deserve nothing.

XXXXXXXXXX

The next weekend Daniel remains home with a babysitter, leaving Logan and I time to ourselves. Of course Logan has brought it upon himself to bring me to another cocktail party.

I miss sitting with you and making fun of these drunken, over-dressed yuppies with fake accents and Swiss bank accounts. Their Halle Barry yoga instructors and affairs with pool boys. But I think the reason I miss it the most is because now I am one of these fakes. And I hate it.

My so-called friend Serena spots me out just as Logan and I walk through the door. I notice how the theme of the mansion is Casino Night, and believe me it showed. Serena grabs my arm and pulls me to a secluded section of the room, revealing her secrets of another affair with her tennis instructor. I honestly can't tell you why Serena would want to befriend someone like me. She's as fake as they come, with platinum blonde hair, oversized boobs, and a nosejob. I'm the same Rory Gilmore only with different clothes and a fancy hairstyle. The only thing now is that I'm miserable. And it shows.

After breaking away from Serena I break for the bathroom, only to walk in on Logan and another woman.

Well, this surely is the cherry to the fucking sundae.

"Fuck you, Logan," I spit out as he wipes the cherry-red lipstick from his swollen lips. The woman I can't recognize readjusts her black dress, replacing a few red hairs.

"Rory.. I-"

"-Don't bother, Logan." And suddenly I'm laughing. Laughing. No, I'm cackling. "It's better this way."

He stands there, stunned. The woman he's with looks equally surprised, since I'm sure that she isn't used to the wives she screws over to react like I did.

"No, Rory, come on," he continues, although all I can manage is a bold slap across the face. His hand instinctively reaches to his face, where his pinkish flesh turns to a distinct red.

I smile again, and turn around to leave the room. Although I feel his hand grab for my arm again, I just shove it off and turn to glare at his deceivingly beautiful brown eyes. "You know, I'm only laughing at myself. I can just imagine how many girls that have been in our bed; our couch; our shower; our pool. And for once I feel.. _nothing_." My eyes must have looked menacing, because he backed off.

The next thing I remember is grabbing a full bottle of eighty percent rum from behind the caterer's set-up, and making a dash for the Range Rover.

XXXXXXXXXX

Now I'm looking in front of the mirror, replaying my life before Logan, before I slept with Dean. It was all too simple, too perfect. And of course I screwed it up. My mother and I don't even speak anymore, since she's so tired of my materialistic ways. Or rather it was me getting tired of her complaints, her suggestions that would only end in a brutal argument. And for once, my grandparents sided with her, so I wasn't in speaking terms with them either.

I can't even cry anymore; I don't know what it feels like. My hair is an espresso colour, high in a done-up bun of some sort, with curls dangling below my ears. A thick layer of eyeliner surrounds my eyes, mascara thickening my lashes. My make-up is horrendous, I just now realize. And my hair seems fake, like I could crack it with a hammer. Where did this monster come from?

If you hadn't died, my life would be different. I wouldn't have married Logan. You would have been in the back of my mind, persuading me not to. I wouldn't have become this beast in front of the mirror, too drunk to even remember her own name. All I can remember is you.

The money from Logan's safe is stashed in a duffel bag beneath the hotel bed, hundreds of thousands of dollars just burning a hole in the ground. This will be my life from now on: living in hotel rooms, eating in lower-class restaurants, hiding out from him and the rest of my unwanted life. Maybe in several years I can return to Star's Hollow, but not now. The police will be looking for me there, wanting to arrest me for stealing several expensive pieces of Logan's mother's jewelry.

For now I will remain nonexistant. Maybe I can find a way to travel to Europe and hide out, see the sites. But just know that I will be thinking only of you.

Because you were the one person who could truly satisfy me.

_"Are you sure?" You inquire yet again, although you already knew the answer._

_I smiled, locking my blue eyes with your chocolate ones. "Yes, Jess, I want to be with you. I'll call Logan tomorrow."_

_Your lips connect with mine again, then drift to my neck and my breasts, and soon you're in me again. We had been going at this all night and day, ever since I returned to you and confessed my love. That it was a mistake to run after kissing you, that I was proud of your book and your business, and everything you had worked for. _

_And then we were us again. We were happy._

A tear drips down from my eyes, and I don't even make an attempt to wipe it away.

We were going to elope the next weekend, after I called Logan. But when I awoke you weren't there, you had written a note saying you were out getting coffee. And then I received a call saying you were gone.

I had nothing else to do but return to him, the one whom I had hated.

How could this have happened? Why couldn't it just be us again?

Just you and me; _Rory and Jess_.


End file.
